What We Owe
by The White Masque
Summary: Mulder awaits his turn to speak to Scully following the news that her cancer has gone into remission. He finds himself reflecting on the last few days, the new questions that have cropped up, and what that means for his future. Key conversations give him new strength to continue on his path toward The Truth. Follows the final scene of "Redux II."


**A/N:** _I want to thank ThexInvisiblexGirl for inspiring me to write this one-shot. She writes phenomenal X-Files fanfictions, so I heartily recommend you go peruse her writings if you're looking for more X-Files fun to read!_

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Skinner had left earlier. And Father McCue had left a little after the assistant director. Fox Mulder was just awaiting Scully's mother and older brother. He didn't have the heart to go bursting in on their family reunion over the fantastic news of Scully's remission. Anyway, he worked better with Scully when talking with her one-on-one. No interruptions, no pesky insinuations about the nature of their relationship, no being on his absolute best behavior; they could just be them, and he always liked those moments best when it came to his partner.

Mulder lazily crossed one leg over the other and leaned his elbow against the thin, plastic armrest of the cheap hospital chair. He rested his cheek against his hand, occasionally rubbing at the dark stubble slowly growing there. In his lap, he held the bloodied childhood picture of he and Samantha. The Smoking Man had known things—had maybe even reintroduced him to his sister—and now the bastard was dead. Mulder didn't mourn the man's death, but he mourned all the lost answers that had trickled away along with his lifeblood. He mourned his own fate—his never-ending search for his sister that always seemed to amount to more tantalizing questions and dead ends. And he couldn't help but think it all lead back Cancer Man in some way or another. The bloodied picture in his hand was proof enough of that, but what did it mean? Why did he have it?

Anything pertaining to Samantha was so precious to Mulder. Was it to be tainted by Smoking Man's touch? Was Smoking Man the ultimate source to all his troubles—his struggles on the X-Files, Scully's abduction, her cancer? He might have delivered Scully's cure, but that didn't make up for all the misdeeds and horrid acts he'd perpetrated in life.

A wave of relief washed over Mulder for the umpteenth time; Scully's cancer was miraculously in remission. As he'd told Skinner earlier, it _was_ the best news he could have ever heard. It was unfathomable, and yet there it was. The tests said she was in the clear. Mulder had taken some time earlier to talk at length with Scully's doctor if only to hear the wonderful news again from the doctor's own lips. When questioned on what could possibly cause the remission, the medical professional was at a loss. As far as he was concerned, Scully had been on death's door. Treatment hadn't been helping; with her particular form of cancer there was nothing else to be done. She was beginning to circle the drain.

And then suddenly she wasn't. She had more than a fighting chance at life; she had earned a _second_ chance. And Mulder couldn't even begin to guess why.

Despite himself, Mulder grinned down at the photo in his hand. While he still needed to continue in his search for Samantha, at least Scully would still be by his side. And what's more, he had toppled part of the conspiracy against her life in incriminating Blevins. Word had trickled down through the Bureau that the section chief had been found shot in his office; it was ruled to be a suicide based on the evidence of a nearby discharged firearm and his fingerprints found on the pistol grip. Mulder didn't subscribe to that theory, though. There was too much counting against it. First and foremost, while Mulder had condemned the man as one of the conspirators in the plot against Scully, he had no evidence to bring forth and verify his claim. A baseless accusation like that didn't cause a man to run from a hearing to his office only to shoot himself in the head moments later. Not to mention, Mulder didn't see Blevins as the sort to commit suicide. He was too much of a coward to take his own life. It required a degree of strength and motivation to snuff out one's own flame; he wasn't that sort of man. No—Blevin's death was just another government cover-up. As was the Smoking Man's, most likely. And maybe even Scully's remission. Anything to discredit Mulder's theories as the ravings of a madman because he had skirted too close to the truth.

Mulder chuckled to himself indignantly.

 _And so it goes on…._

The murmur of voices drifted through the wall behind him. He could hear the sound of a chair scraping against the linoleum floor.

 _It seems things are getting underway_.

There was the rattle of a door handle as the door of Scully's room opened. Mrs. Scully's voice filtered through the two-inch gap. Mulder tucked the photo safely in his shirt pocket. He was too afraid it would be damaged if he slipped in into his slacks alongside his wallet and other effects. Carefully, he uncrossed his legs and stretched them out, leaning back in his chair as he awaited the Scully family's exit.

Bill's booming rumble of a voice offered words of farewell to his sister followed by Mrs. Scully's promise that they'd visit again tomorrow. Mulder pulled his long legs back toward his chair, setting them flat against the floor as Mrs. Scully stepped out into the hall, Bill at her heels. The door to Scully's room closed softly.

"Fox," Mrs. Scully said immediately, her voice much lighter than it had been in the last few days, though Mulder detected a slight waver to her tone; no doubt she was still on the brink of tears over the good news. "You should have told us you were out here." Mulder smiled up at the elder woman from his seat. While she had appeared haggard and worn over the last few days as Scully's health rapidly declined, she suddenly looked as if years had been washed from her face. She was bright and practically beaming. Unlike her son who glowered at Mulder from behind his mother's shoulder.

"I didn't want to interrupt, Mrs. Scully," Mulder replied easily. "It was time meant to be spent with family." Mrs. Scully set a hand comfortingly on his shoulder, seeming as if she wanted to refute that claim. Perhaps to say that he was family to Scully as much as they were. But Mulder disagreed. He was the brooding outcast: "Spooky" Mulder with his abducted sister, murdered father, and estranged mother. He was the model isolationist; a man locked away from the world in a basement office with newspaper clippings and outlandish theories to keep him company. He was King Arthur embarking on the most daunting of quests, to seek his own mythical Holy Grail: the Truth. And Scully—for reasons well beyond him—was a willing accomplice in his crusade, and she was nearly a casualty on too many occasions. Mulder was better as a loner; it was better for himself and those he cared about despite Scully's unrelenting insistence to stick by his side, even going so far as to offer herself in his stead for the murder of a DOD employee he had killed. He was undeserving of such devotion; he was unworthy of a family such as Scully's, to be considered among them. They who cared for her well-being while he only needlessly drew her further into danger.

Mrs. Scully met his serious gaze and suddenly seemed to reconsider her response. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and slipped her hand from it.

"Thank you, Fox," she said simply, though Mulder could sense an unsaid depth to those words. He met her warm, welcoming eyes and was once again struck by how astute Mrs. Scully was. He was the black sheep at Scully's bedside, so-to-speak, and she sensed he thought as much. Those who had visited Scully over the course of day did so fitting customary roles: the family priest, the direct superior, the family. Mulder crossed those categorizing borders, appearing in a class all his own as Scully's colleague, friend, and confidant. He was the odd man out of Scully's numerous well-wishers.

Mrs. Scully had always been aware of the intense, complex relationship between Mulder and her daughter—that they coexisted and cooperated with one another on a myriad of levels stemming beyond a simple working relationship or friendship. Partners of over a decade could not necessarily attain the sort of relationship formed between Mulder and Scully; it just _was_ , and it was awe-inspiringly real. While many who met the pair simply assumed the two were just well-acquainted colleagues who knew how to work appropriately with one another, Mrs. Scully was one of the few who saw the reality for what it was, though she never voiced her thoughts on the matter.

Mulder was reminded of a conversation he had had with her following Scully's abduction—when she had insisted that he hold onto Scully's gold cross until she was returned to them and he could then return it to her. He was certainly not a religious man, but the gesture had touched him, and he took up the task with utmost seriousness. And at the time they barely knew one another, having just met a few days previous in Scully's trashed apartment, but Mrs. Scully could already sense the depth of his relationship with Scully—even without her daughter being present.

Her quiet "thank you" was another one of those moments. Mrs. Scully was once again disclosing her recognition of the special relationship that existed between himself and her daughter even while she could not completely understand it. And even while unable to fathom the depths to which it plumbed, she was not one to judge the intricacies of their layered relationship. She was giving her blessing—noting that he needn't feel forced into abiding to social norms when it came to her daughter. He could be whatever it was he wanted to and needed to be for Scully—whether that constituted as family, friend, or something that no one else could ever possibly comprehend. Mulder was thankful for her intimated thoughts, as well as the subtle manner in which she communicated them, and he smiled appreciatively up at her.

"I'm happy for you," he said genuinely. "For both of you," he added with a knowing look at Bill. Mulder noted that the elder Scully brother had failed to discern that anything had passed between Mrs. Scully and himself, though no one outside the two of them was likely ever to understand it. Perhaps not even Scully herself. "It's great news to hear of Scully's recovery." Mrs. Scully nodded, but Bill wasn't buying his sincerity.

"It's news I can hardly believe," Mrs. Scully admitted, almost tearing up. She took in a shaky breath and hastily recomposed herself. "But you go and see her, Fox. I'm sure she wants to see you."

"You have a good night, Mrs. Scully," Mulder replied with a nod as he stood up. Mrs. Scully returned the gesture before turning down the hallway. Bill caught his mother by the shoulder.

"You go on, mom. I want to have a word with Mr. Mulder." Mrs. Scully looked uncertainly between the two men, but slowly nodded and continued on her way. Mulder slipped his hands lazily into his pockets, wondering what in the world Bill could have to say to him. By his estimates, it was nothing good. Bill stared at his mother's departing back, and Mulder followed his gaze. Once she was far enough away, Bill rounded on Mulder.

"Dana's better, Mr. Mulder," he said simply as if Mulder weren't aware of the circumstances of Scully's recovery. "And I, for one, don't want to see her like this again."

"Neither do I," Mulder returned, meeting Bill's gaze with ease considering they stood at about the same height. Neither one of them would be able to use height as an intimidation factor in the event the conversation turned sour. Not that Mulder intended to get into a fight with Scully's brother, but he was determined to stand his ground should Bill say something untoward.

"I don't just mean stuck here fighting cancer," Bill clarified. "I mean stuck in a hospital like this for anything."

"Well, the nature of our work does tend to lean toward the perilous," Mulder began cheekily, unable to resist provoking Bill some, "though I promise you, I'd never wish this kind of thing on your sister."

"I get it!" retorted Bill brazenly. "Being an FBI agent is dangerous, but she seems to end up in this place more often than she should. You know I had to come here the other week because she'd been shoved down some stairs and you were nowhere to be found?" Mulder winced visibly. "Where were you, Mr. Mulder?"

"Following up on a case," Mulder deadpanned vaguely, unwilling to give Bill the benefit of ruffling him. He _was_ disturbed, though. The events of the last week had all progressed so quickly, and his focus shifted so gradually from one crisis to the next. Obviously he had let some important information slip through the cracks. But Scully hadn't informed him of her accident, or maybe she had realized that he was so engrossed in his extraterrestrial findings that he would permit nothing to distract him. At least until the news of the truth behind Scully's cancer came to light: that she was dying to keep him invested in the belief of extraterrestrial life. Even her miraculous medical turnaround wasn't enough to abate the guilt of that fact. And Bill wasn't helping the matter.

"Whether on the job or not, don't you think you'd be available to hear that your partner had been admitted to a hospital?"

"Scully didn't call me," Mulder replied simply, unwilling to go into the details—that more than likely he had been trekking up a snowy mountain in Canada at the time of her tumble down the stairs. "She knew I was indisposed. I wouldn't have been able to take her call anyway."

"You know what, Mr. Mulder?" Bill asked rhetorically with a dark laugh. "You just don't care, do you? Dana's out there putting her life on the line for you, and you don't give a damn." Mulder felt his expression harden.

"Had I known Scully was in the hospital, I would have been here," he replied icily.

"But you weren't," Bill pressed. "You weren't anywhere near her. I can only assume you were off chasing after little green men again." Mulder sighed.

"Not without good cause," he finally said. "I thought I had tangible proof in my hands, but your sister showed me different. Your sister showed me the truth." He steadily met Bill's patronizing gaze. He wasn't about to kowtow to the elder Scully. "And upon learning that truth, I've done my best to bring those responsible to justice."

"Too little, too late," Bill growled.

"She's fine, isn't she?" Mulder countered, his frustration mounting.

"And you expect me to believe that was _you're_ doing? That chip saved her…?"

"I don't know, Bill," Mulder replied bitingly. "It very well could have. But I _have_ had Scully's best intentions in mind. Don't doubt me on that." Bill laughed.

"You think that, Mr. Mulder. But I swear if she ends up dead because of you..." He left the threat unfinished, but Mulder picked him up on it.

"If that happens, you have my permission to do what you want. Lord knows I'll be doing worse to myself anyway." Mulder stared Scully's brother in the eyes, finally thinking he had come to some twisted understanding with the Navy man. While Bill could doubt him and berate him for all the hurt he had caused to his family, he couldn't deny Mulder's drive. With a sneer, Bill nodded sternly.

"I'm glad we could finally come to an understanding on something, at least, Mr. Mulder," he said, jutting out his hand. Mulder shook the man's hand firmly, feeling Bill's grip tighten menacingly over his. He leaned in. "Dana would go to the ends of the earth for you. Why? I don't damn well know. Because I can't possibly fathom how you're worth it. But there's no changing her mind." He threw back Mulder's hand and pulled away. "Don't let her down." He turned away and began to walk down the hall, but Mulder felt stuck in a minor case of deja vu. He slipped his hands back into his pockets.

"Funny," he said, once again regaining Bill's attention. The Navy man turned around. "Your sister once said something similar to me."

"Dana?"

"No," Mulder said with a shake of his head. "Melissa."

"And look where she is because of you," Bill said darkly. The words struck Mulder like a blow, but he appeared unfazed, resolved to continue on with his point.

"When Dana was in that coma three years ago following her abduction," he said, opting to use his partner's given name for a change, "I was in a dark place. I didn't see hope in her recovery, and I knew if she died, it would be my fault." Bill smirked with a curt scoff. "Yeah," Mulder affirmed, looking the man in the eye. "I knew I was to blame." He didn't like Bill's habit of assuming that he was blissfully unaware of the consequences of any of his actions and was determined to show him otherwise. "In my guilt and frustration at my inability to do anything to save her, I refused to see her, busying myself with trying to ascertain why she was taken and who took her. And Melissa came knocking on my door intent on knocking sense into my thick skull." Mulder watched as Bill's features softened some at the mention of his long-dead sister. His expression was still stern, but a glint of sadness reached his eyes. "She criticized me for being so wrapped up in myself and my attempts to 'get even,' as she called it. She said I ought to take the time available to me to see Dana and show my support. Her exact words to me were, 'Dana expects more'—that your sister deserved more from me than just a crazed attempt at vengeance. She deserved my being there for her, and those words stuck with me."

"Melissa said that?" Bill asked unnecessarily. "That sounds just like her." He smiled wistfully at some memory of his sibling. Mulder nodded.

"I've tried to take a more positive outlook since then." Mulder worked his jaw and broke his gaze from the other man's for a moment. "I refuse to let your sister go through these kind of trials alone," he said after a moment, resuming his gaze. "I was with her every step of the way through this cancer diagnosis—from her first hospital visit to today." He gestured to Scully's door situated behind him. "She was the one who wanted to continue working, and I supported her even while I thought she should take time for herself. I watched her have nosebleeds in the field only for her to berate me for being concerned. She never wanted to be treated differently, like some fragile thing ready to break at a touch. She told me she was going to go out fighting, and that meant even refusing my confidence and my help in those moments when she was terrified. Had she reached for me or called me, I would have been at her side in a heartbeat. That's not what she wanted, though, and I had to respect her wishes." Bill stared at Mulder for a few seconds, chewing on his words and considering them.

"So," he said finally, "you didn't help Dana because she didn't want help…."

"Because she wanted to show that she didn't need help," Mulder clarified. "It's why she didn't always confide in me, your mother, you. I've offered to help her when available; I've been there when she's asked. I can't do more than that."

"She's always been a trooper," Bill acknowledged. "And a stubborn one at that." Mulder chuckled.

"Don't I know it?" Bill met Mulder's eyes as the brief moment of camaraderie ebbed away.

"Don't get me wrong. I still think you're a bad sort for my sister. I'd prefer if you weren't partners, but I don't have the power to change that. So…" he struggled to finish the sentence, uncertain of what exactly there was to say. He was a big brother determined to keep the remnants of his family pieced together as best as he could, and he didn't want to suffer through any more unexpected deaths. Mulder had to commend him on his attempts. Wasn't he, after all, trying to accomplish the same thing in finding Samantha? Like Bill, he was a big brother looking out for his little sister and was willing to do just about anything if it meant keeping her safe.

"I know. I'll do my best," he promised, his cool hazel-green eyes locked on Bill's as he reflected on the link that bound the two of them unexpectedly together. He offered his hand, and the two men shook once more. "I hope you and your mother get home safely," Mulder added as Bill started off down the hallway. Bill turned and nodded once in reluctant thanks before continuing off.

Mulder turned to face Scully's door, finally prepared to see her for himself. He felt much more at ease knowing he would be able to see her alone. He spun the doorknob to her room and entered, feeling a warm smile tug at his lips as he set sights on his recently ill partner. She looked much less sickly than last he saw her, but she didn't look altogether one hundred percent.

"Hey there, Scully," he greeted. The room was rather dark except for a bedside lamp which was turned on, illuminating Scully's still pale face. She leaned back against a pair of fluffed up pillows, boosting her up to a somewhat inclined position.

"I thought I heard raised voices," she said worriedly, working to sit up further—as if she was in any shape to stop a potential fight that might occur between her overbearing brother and overprotective partner.

"It was just your brother chewing me out," Mulder replied easily as he shut the door silently behind him.

"Why? What did Bill say?" Scully asked slowly with a frown, worry emanating from her voice.

"He's very happy you're better," Mulder said, walking over to her bedside and taking her hand. "As am I," he added softly, leaning down to place a light kiss against her cheek. He reached back for an abandoned chair, pulled it over, and fell into it.

"Mulder, what did he say?" Scully insisted, piercing him with her sharp blue-eyed gaze. Mulder grinned lightly.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Scully." She looked about ready to protest, but Mulder cut her off. "But you might be curious to hear what happened during the hearing." Scully narrowed her gaze at him, likely debating whether or not to let go of the subject of his conversation with Bill, but she relented.

"I tried to ask Skinner earlier, but he wasn't saying much. Only that someone had been implicated. Though I can guess you didn't point him out as one of the conspirators."

"No, I didn't. I told you I wouldn't be taking any deals, and Skinner was never against us to begin with."

"I can't believe I suspected him," she admitted. "After how much he's helped us in the past."

"You were right to consider him," Mulder returned. "He had vital information that could have jeopardized our plan against the conspiracy, and you weren't sure what he'd do with that information."

"I should have had more faith in him, Mulder. I guess with all the recent revelations, I felt like everyone was out to get us. Everyone was suspect."

"And everyone should be suspect, Scully," Mulder agreed. "At least until they've proven they can be trusted. This conspiracy went into the heart of our government. Into the DOD; into the Bureau. When we have people batting against us who are on our own team, then no one can be trusted."

"But you trusted Skinner?" she offered quietly. Mulder sighed, glancing down at his neat, black dress shoes.

"Skinner's said things to me," he muttered. "Oblique references, warnings. Usually of the nature that we're not the only ones being watched. That he has a taskmaster carefully overseeing him, too. And Skinner knew he was putting his ass on the line withholding that information. He took a chance on us," he said, raising his eyes to look at Scully. "People who do things like that have a habit of getting into my good books." He smiled; Scully still looked a tad guilty.

"Like Deep Throat and your other informant?" she asked. Mulder nodded amenably.

"And you, Scully." She smiled appreciatively.

"You mean if I was sane, I shouldn't have gone tramping around the Oregon woods with you four years ago?" He grinned; he had missed that wit of hers and quickly thought up an appropriate response.

"I'm saying you shouldn't have mistook mosquito bites for signs of alien intervention. Never imagined a self-assured medical doctor and scientist would get so rattled by a few cases of alien abduction."

"It's not everyday that you run across mysterious markings on a bunch of teenagers, Mulder, especially when there's no discernible cause for them being there." Mulder chuckled.

"And so you logically assumed you had them, too?" Scully searched around for a retort for a few seconds, but no comeback came. Mulder grinned, realizing he had won the game of wits. Upon seeing his grin, Scully tried a different tactic.

"But if I hadn't come to your room that night, I likely wouldn't be here, Mulder. It was that story about your sister that made me reconsider your assessment of the situation in Bellefleur. Well, maybe 'reconsider you entirely' would be a better way to put it." Mulder's grin evaporated from his face as the truth of her words came crashing down.

"You wouldn't be here at all, Scully," he said, suddenly serious. "You wouldn't be stuck in his hospital bed having suddenly overcome cancer." She would be off in a different division of the Bureau leading an entirely different life—one free of the dangers inherently associated with the X-Files. Scully smiled at him sadly. While already holding Mulder's hand, she reached over with her other to pat him reassuringly.

"But I'm better, Mulder," she reminded him pointedly. "And you caught one of the men conspiring against us." She paused; Mulder suspected she was attempting to judge if her words helped at all. After a moment, she drew back her other hand and continued. "If not Skinner, though, who was it?"

"You were right in your presumption that the turncoat would be someone who knew everything we'd been up to over the last four years," he began cryptically. Scully looked at him curiously, wondering who he could mean. "It was Blevins."

"Blevins?" Scully repeated.

"He assigned you to the X-Files," Mulder stated conclusively, as if it explained the entire scenario. Scully nodded slowly to herself.

"So my assignment four years ago really was just part of an agenda?"she asked rhetorically. "This entire time I was just a pawn in someone else's game."

"You were meant to be my downfall, Scully," Mulder replied, perhaps answering an unspoken question, "—whether by debunking the X-Files or making me believe more adamantly in them." He released her hand and leaned back in his chair, perching an elbow on the armrest. "I was the piece they were ultimately trying to manipulate. They either wanted me gone or working for them—believing in whatever crap they contrived for me, and you were a means to an end."

"So every case we closed _—_ every time we thought we were working against them—we were aiding their cause?" Scully asked aloud, attempting to wrap her mind around the bewildering reality of the last few years.

"At least once they realized you wouldn't help them in shutting down the X-Files," Mulder nodded. "While they temporarily succeeded in doing so after Deep Throat's death, they saw that we continued to work together, and they had to come up with a more permanent solution."

"And so they abducted me—knowing you'd believe it was aliens," Scully concluded. Mulder nodded.

"Something I now know to be a lie," he added sternly. "I saw everything at the Department of Defense. Irrefutable evidence that everything I have believed was part of an elaborate hoax in attempt to swindle me. Artificial alien corpses, female test subjects, a filing system which included your name and led me to the location of that chip in your neck. The source of the entire conspiracy was there." Scully looked at him doubtfully, her eyes narrowing as she assessed him.

"So what about everything you told me in that motel room four years ago?"

"A lie," Mulder replied rapidly. "Another piece in the government set-up. All those kids in Bellefleur were just test subjects. People kidnapped and experimented on for the purpose of permeating the belief in the existence of extraterrestrials. That, in itself, a red herring to keep the public from seeing the government's true goal: to test new technology suited for chemical and biological warfare on the American population. Like world religions, it all just becomes another means to shape the minds of the masses and exert control over them."

"You're telling me you suddenly don't believe your sister was abducted by aliens? What about the hypnotic regression therapy sessions you underwent?"

"Perhaps they were memories implanted by the government to further their cause," Mulder shrugged. "A form of brainwashing. Perhaps it was just my bizarre way to cope with Samantha's disappearance. Find the most improbable cause for what happened to her and cling to that because it's easier to delude myself rather than accept the truth."

"Mulder," Scully said slowly. "I'm a bit at a loss. You've stood by your assertions in the existence of extraterrestrial life for four years now—even in the face of empirical science, I might add—and suddenly you're throwing that all away."

"Because I've seen different now, Scully," he maintained fervently. "I knew walking into the Department of Defense that if I found the cure to your cancer, it would be in opposition to everything I once believed. And I found that chip, and now you're better."

"I'm not sure it was the chip that brought about my remission, Mulder," Scully said, brushing her fingers against the gauze taped to the back of her neck. "I'm honestly not sure what it was."

"Neither am I, Scully," Mulder admitted. "But I don't know what else it could have been."

"Well," Scully began, albeit a bit hesitatingly. She played with the fringe of one of the blankets draped over her. "As unlikely and bizarre as this sounds coming from me..." she chuckled lightly, "I was wondering if it was a miracle." She finally looked up to meet Mulder's gaze, and he stared at her.

"As in the hand of God reached down to heal you of your illness? A legitimate case of divine intervention?"

"I know it sounds crazy…" Scully began at the incredulous tone in Mulder's voice.

"Yes, it does, Scully," Mulder nodded.

"It's just this fight with cancer gave me cause to reclaim my faith." She fingered with the cross around her neck. "I wore this for so many years as a pointless memento. These last few days made me reevaluate that. If I wasn't going to find solace in science to come to terms with my death, then I had to turn to something different—even something as foreign to me as faith."

"So you're asking yourself if your return to the path of light spared you from death?" Mulder drawled. She glanced up at his skeptical gaze.

"Is it as far-fetched as your theory about the chip?" she returned. "After I had it implanted, my tests came back indicating no medical improvement. It was only after that I prayed with Father McCue that my cancer went into remission." Mulder shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell you, Scully. I'm not the best guy to go to with matters of faith."

"But you _are_ the one to talk to about matters of belief."

"Obviously not," he scoffed. "Since it turns out my life's work for the last few years has been nothing but a ruse." Scully sighed and reached out for his hand. While a bit hesitant to do so, he leaned forward again and obligingly took it.

"You know I've never really shared your beliefs in extraterrestrial life or paranormal occurrences," she admitted. "I've always done what I've been trained to do: rely on science and my understanding of empirical evidence in my approach to unexplained phenomena. But your ability to adamantly believe in the face of everything that runs contrary to it—from a lack of consummate proof to open ridicule—has always been an inspiration to me, Mulder. It's what ultimately opened me to the notion of believing without any hint of validity. You taught me that believing in and of itself is hard, much more difficult than believing in something when there is incontrovertible evidence verifying its existence. Maybe it's why I've found myself suddenly open to returning to my faith. Because if I've been a witness to so many incomprehensible experiences in our work on the X-Files, is it that far of a stretch for me to believe in God?"

"But can we even be certain that those cases were authentic examples of unexplainable phenomena at this point?" Mulder retorted, perhaps a bit more harshly than he intended. He sighed to himself and took a couple deep breaths, willing himself to calm. He felt the pad of Scully thumb rub his hand soothingly. "While I'm glad to hear you think you've benefited from my mania and disillusionment," Mulder began again, "I just find myself questioning everything." He reached into his shirt pocket and removed the photo, handing it over to Scully. She took it tentatively, eyeing the blood splotches scattered over it.

"Mulder, whose blood is this?" she immediately asked, reaching out for the arm of his shirt and looking him over.

"I'm fine, Scully," he reassured her, taking her hand from his sleeve and resuming to hold it in his own. He waited until she looked at him once more, her ever-bright blue eyes. "It's Cancer Man's."

"What?" she asked, suddenly bewildered.

"He was shot and supposedly killed," Mulder continued. Scully picked up the photo once more, flipping it around, perhaps hoping to see a notation on the back. "His body has subsequently disappeared, though Skinner assures me there was too much blood at the scene to warrant his survival. _That_ was found next to the pool of blood," he pointed to the photo.

"Who shot him?" Scully rapidly asked. "Where did this come from?" Mulder shrugged, taking back the photo and carefully pocketing it once more.

"Your guess is as good as mine. But he's presumed dead, and Blevins is dead, as well—ruled a suicide." Scully's mouth fell open as she attempted to process all the incoming information.

"Where?"

"Blevins?" Mulder asked. "In his office following the hearing. The Smoking Man was shot in his apartment, but beats me who called in his murder since I've heard no talk of witnesses or anyone hearing a gunshot in the vicinity. In both cases, there was little evidence to be found. Just enough to offer a vague picture of what could have happened, and since then I suspect it's all been summarily swept under the rug."

"Was Blevins' body found in his office?"

"As far as I know," Mulder assented.

"As soon as I'm discharged, I want to perform an autopsy on his corpse," she demanded. Mulder shrugged.

"You can, Scully, but I doubt you'll find anything. They've taken great care to clean up after themselves, to ensure that there's no proof of the conspiracy's existence. That included eliminating Blevins and the Smoking Man as weak links. It might have included curing your cancer. There's nothing to tie them to any illegal or experimental activity." Scully looked at a loss for a moment, before a sudden light came to her eyes.

"My analyses on the virus," she suddenly said. "The irrefutable data confirming the correlation between the government cover-up and my illness. I was due to present it at the FBI panel after I gave my testimony on your death." Mulder wasn't nearly as encouraged by the news.

"And then you passed out, unable to produce the scientific evidence you worked so hard to obtain," Mulder countered. "Coincidental, isn't it?" Scully looked perplexed. "Just as you're about to blow the whole conspiracy out of the water, your illness takes a dramatic turn for the worse."

"You think that was part of their plan? To exacerbate my illness at that very moment so I'd be unable to testify against them?"

"I don't know, Scully," he answered plainly. "I just find the timing of everything a bit suspect. Anyway, have you seen your documents since your admittance to this hospital?"

"No," she replied, her expression falling some.

"So it can be assumed that your findings were taken and destroyed, as well. Anyone and anything pertaining to this conspiracy is dead and buried—outside of you and me. Once again, we sit here with all the pieces in place but nothing discernible to present as evidence."

"What about Kritschgau?"

"Based on what Skinner told me, his position with the Department of Defense has been terminated, and it seems at the moment, no one can find him. He wouldn't be of much help to us at this point anyway, Scully. All the evidence he could offer us was in that facility, and with his access revoked, we have no way in anymore. Not to mention, he has little motivation to try and take down the government since the death of his son."

"His son died?" Scully asked in concern.

"Earlier today, yeah," Mulder nodded solemnly. "I looked for a cure to his illness in the DOD, but I didn't find anything. I don't think he was meant to be cured. And that was Kritschgau's prime motivator in helping us—to help his son."

"Vengeance can be an even stronger motive, though, Mulder. To attack and destroy the organization that took his son from him."

"Perhaps if he weren't partly to blame himself, as well."

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, her brow furrowing.

"I think Kritschgau believes himself to blame for his son's death. While the government performed the tests on him resulting in his illness, Kritschgau was privy to the knowledge that the government was conducting such experiments on the American people. His son just happened to be in one of the test groups."

"Even more reason to try and topple the government," Scully reasoned. "He would destroy the organization that killed his son as well as assuaging his own guilt as a knowing accomplice in their illicit activities."

"It took him a long while to even get the courage to talk to us about the conspiracy," Mulder returned. "I can't see him being immediately willing to put his life on the line again."

"He doesn't have anything to lose at this point, Mulder."

"Except his life," Mulder stressed. "I think fear for his life is what kept him silent for as long as it did, but when he saw we were close to uncovering the truth, he saw his chance to right the wrongs of the corrupt."

"And now he's MIA," Scully sighed.

"And for some reason we're still here," Mulder added. "And I can't fathom why, Scully. These men know how to make murders look like accidents. They're like ghosts in the system. If they wanted to, they could kill us, but they haven't."

"Are you thinking that they believe we're still of use to them?" she asked curiously.

"For whatever reason, we must be. Maybe we're their scapegoat, their failsafe should things go amiss." He noticed Scully wasn't following his line of thinking. "Think about it, Scully. We obtain evidence that could potentially eviscerate them—whether accidentally or on purpose. We prepare to present that evidence, and they quickly discredit our findings before we have the chance to do so. Suddenly they're free from suspicion and we look like incompetent agents who ought to be locked away in a basement office." A grim smile played at his lips, and he thought he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He once again became painfully aware of Scully's hand in his own and tried to take some comfort in it. "But you know what, Scully?" She glanced up at him, her eyebrows arching questioningly. "I don't mean to stop."

"Stop?" she asked singularly. He chuckled lightly at her confusion, noting her expectant look as she waited for him to continue. It was such a Scully expression—usually made in response to one of his case theories, and it was a welcome sight after the events of the last few days.

"Stop looking into them. Stop investigating X-Files altogether. I'm taking a page from your book, Scully. I'm not going to let them beat me on this—even if they have the upper hand."

"Wow, Mulder," she smiled, her eyes flashing brightly. "How very rebellious of you!"

"You didn't think I was just good looks, did you?" he teased. She rolled her eyes.

"The thought never crossed my mind, but…" she paused to once again resume the serious nature of the conversation, "you can count on me to be there with you."

"Are you sure, Scully—Dana?" Mulder rectified, wanting her to take ample time to consider her situation, especially given recent revelations and her most recent brush with death. Bill's words and worries thrummed in his head.

"I am," she affirmed with a nod. "I want to keep doing this. We owe it to ourselves, to people like Kritschgau, to the innocent civilians. If we willingly let these people get away, how are we any better than them? We'd just be aiding them in their conspiracy of silence." Despite Mulder's internal worries, he couldn't help but smile genuinely at his partner.

"Careful. You're going to get me all hot and bothered," he said, returning to their routine banter for a brief moment. "But…" he continued, pausing as Scully had a few seconds before, "thank you. I wouldn't be here without you, Dana," he admitted, putting some stress on her name. She smiled reassuringly at him and squeezed his hand.

"You're welcome, Mulder." He awkwardly stood from his chair and slid it back into its place in the corner.

"I'll let you get some rest," he said quietly. "I'll be by tomorrow and we can talk some more."

"Can't wait," Scully sighed, suddenly looking put out, perhaps tired of being stuck in a hospital bed.

Mulder chuckled, proceeding to lean over her.

He was suddenly struck by a vivid memory. Wailing silently by her bedside the night before. He had rested his cheek against the coarse material of the hospital bedding, his face just ever so lightly brushing against the flesh of her arm. He rested a hand against her hand, feeling the sharp contours of the knuckles and bones beneath her soft skin. He could make out the nearly imperceptible sound of her breathing as he sought to stifle his sobs. Sometimes he'd turn his face into the mattress, using the fabric to soften the noises that unwittingly erupted from him. It was an outright painful experience; he was soundlessly screaming in his anguish. The partner he had come to rely so heavily upon, the woman he had come to consider his utmost confidant and best friend, was withering and wasting away. And despite his best efforts, there was nothing he could do.

While his sister's disappearance is what drove him, he only knew her for eight short years. He didn't know the woman she might have become had she not been abducted. His relationship with his parents had always been strained. Friends from university or work colleagues came and went at a rapid pace. Flings with women or past loves were either flippant or real depending on the nature of the relationship.

But none of them amounted to the connection he felt with Scully. She was both is equal and his better half, working with him in such complete sync that it was sometimes frightening. Yes, she was the scientist to his psychologist, the skeptic to his believer. But it went beyond those trifling roles. She saw him—the good and the bad—and she accepted him, she helped him, she stood by him. She never thought any lesser of him for obsessing over the unexplainable and speeding off at a breakneck speed into danger. Instead—she kept in stride with him, working in tandem with him. And she was fearless, ever-willing to put herself in harm's way if it was a cause she wholly believed in. How many times had she needlessly protected him, spiriting him away if his life were in danger? All the while putting her own life and career in jeopardy. And even after horrid, earth-shattering ordeals—the death of her father and sister, her abduction, her initial cancer diagnosis—she refused to falter. Anyone else in the world would have stopped right then, curled up into ball, and let life pass them by meaninglessly. But not Scully. She was always willing to continue on until her last breath. Such a petite woman—so easy to underestimate—and such raw strength residing inside her. It emboldened Mulder and gave him the will to push on in those moments when he might naturally hesitate.

And she was still fighting in her last days. And he was fighting alongside her, and while he might dismantle some of the conspiracy actively working against them, it was a hollow victory in the light of Scully's impending submission to cancer.

It was altogether a much worse ordeal than when she was quietly slipping away in a coma. At least then there was a sense of peace. Here there was no peace in watching her suffer and attempt to sacrifice herself needlessly to his cause yet again.

After minutes in turmoil, he felt his throat become raw and his mouth bone-dry. Spittle and tears had drenched the bedsheet he pressed his face against. The sobs died away, but the hot tears remained. He unceremoniously wiped away any saliva remaining around his mouth and gently nuzzled Scully hand, finding solace in the comfort of her touch. His lips brushed against a finger, and he maneuvered his face to place a desperate kiss against it. He bent his head further, resting his forehead against her hand as he attempted to recompose himself, taking multiple deep breaths. When he found himself sufficiently calm, he rose from the bed, brushing his fingers against Scully's hand one last time before leaving the room.

Mulder snapped back to the present. He was hovering awkwardly over Scully, seeming to have stopped in mid-motion. Scully eyed him warily.

"Sorry," he apologized clumsily. "Got lost in thought for a moment."

"Smooth recovery," Scully complimented with a bemused shake of her head. Mulder resumed his motion, brushing his lips against Scully's cheek.

"I try," he whispered in her ear before drawing back. He heard the almost inaudible hiss of her breath as he straightened himself out at her bedside. She smiled up at him, and he found himself reaching down for her hand one last time.

"You were almost gone, Scully," he suddenly said, worry creasing his brow.

"I know," she replied quietly. "But I'm not. I'm _here_." He noted that she was rubbing her thumb along his hand once more. "And I'm not going anywhere," she added. He smiled doubtfully.

"You sure?" Her blue eyes pierced into his, willing him to see her resilience.

"I promise."

After years of working together, he had learned to never doubt Dana Scully; this was another one of those times.


End file.
